


the courage of a knight

by Kells



Series: gifts, requests, and other little bits [14]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Nußknacker und Mausekönig | Nutcracker and the Mouse King - E. T. A. Hoffmann, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Female Steve Rogers, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 19:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5102279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kells/pseuds/Kells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, and seven-year-old Tony misses his godfather with a fierceness slowly cooling into resentment. When his nanny meets a man called Erskine, unless he isn't, Steph Rogers finds herself in charge of an antique doll with a striking resemblance to the man she'd only kind of met before she kissed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I _don’t want_ that! It’s old and it’s broken, and it's a girl's toy!”

As Howard Stark’s guests exchanged looks ranging from vicarious alarm to smug anticipation, his son’s full-time caregiver set down her mug with a thump. Stephanie wasn’t officially on the clock, but it would be on her and no one else if her employer’s son threw a fit at the gala Maria Stark had thrown to celebrate her husband's long-awaited return from Europe and the war. Thankfully it was still early- there were only a handful of _really_ influential people already on hand. Stifling a sigh, Steph hurried over to find Tony, already red-faced with seven-year-old wrath, thrusting a moderately sized figurine back at the man who had apparently tried to give it to him. His mother looked properly scandalised.

“Tony! Is that any way to speak to a friend of your father’s?”

Howard’s friend waved off the reprimand with a rueful smile, but Tony was dangerously close to a full-blown tantrum.

“I don’t want him, he’s awful and a liar and I _hate_ -“

“Hey,” Steph interjected, crouching so she was face to face with the little boy.

“What’s going on with you? We don’t throw words like that around, do we?”

She wouldn’t have been surprised if Tony had snapped back, tense and unhappy as he was, but his answer was barely a whisper, offered along with the doll that had so offended him.

“He was supposed to come.”

Tony watched Steph examine the figure for the first time. It was beautifully made, minutely detailed and obviously an antique. The soldier was clad in one of those 19th century European uniforms made mostly of velvet and rich brocade, but Steph only had to glance at the doll to see that it had been his features- strangely sharp light-coloured eyes paired with dark hair that fell in vigorously carved waves- that had set Tony off. He wouldn’t cry in front of his father’s friends, but she could hear the on-going struggle in his poor trembling voice.

“He said he’d be here.”

That wasn’t quite correct, Steph thought. Sighing deeply, she gathered her charge into a hug.

“He said he’d try, sweetheart. You know he’d be here if he could.”

Maria Stark’s face changed as she put two and two together. She caught Steph’s eye over Tony’s head, mouthing the captain’s name as she laid a hand on her son’s shoulder. Steph was already wondering how on earth they could recover without sending Tony up to bed a full three hours early when the rattle and roar of Vernon van Dyne’s brand-new Rolls Royce distracted most of the room. 

“That’s the new motor,” Tony told them, still in place under his mother’s hand but already looking longingly towards the foyer. His mother and nanny exchanged sympathetic, grateful smiles as the ever-burning curiosity that often drove them to distraction now saved them from a painful conversation neither were sure they were fully qualified to have with their young engineer-in-training.

“Daddy says ours’s gonna go faster _and_ quieter cos he’s gonna use jet parts instead, but oil ‘em good before and after.”

“Go on,” Stephanie suggested, giving Tony a gentle shove to say he was allowed. Maria gave her son’s shoulder a final squeeze before letting go of him, but Tony surprised both women by grabbing his mother’s hand so he could tow her along with him as he rushed to investigate the car that half the adults present were already salivating over. Steph stayed where she was, smiling faintly at the sight of mother and son hand-in-hand, and only realised she wasn’t on her own when the man who’d kicked off their little drama cleared his throat to remind her that he was still there.

“Well done,” he murmured when Stephanie shot to her feet with a startled look in his direction. “You handled that much better than we would have done, I think.”

Steph shrugged uneasily, not sure what to make of that kind of praise from a complete stranger.

“I’m sorry about him. He misses his godfather, you know?”

The stranger nodded, rheumy eyes rich with sympathy.

“I should have thought of it- we’ve lost far too many.”

The trouble, in its way, was that they _hadn’t_ lost Tony’s godfather- the official position, even after the end of the war, was that Captain Barnes was Missing in Action. Tony’s parents had been admirably straightforward about the thing with their son, but there was no good way to tell a child that it was time to stop hoping that his hero might still make it home. Apparently, Steph thought sadly, there was no easy way to watch him reach that conclusion on his own either.

“Way too many,” she agreed emphatically. She’d only met Captain Barnes once herself, about six months into her job as Tony’s live-in carer. The boy had been delirious with excitement for days and weeks leading up to his godfather’s too-brief visit, so it hadn’t been at all surprising that the captain had hardly had time to flash a frankly breath-taking grin in Steph’s direction and murmur his greetings before Tony was dragging him away, babbling at a rate of knots. Steph had waved them off, more surprised than she should have been that Howard Stark's only child had such a straight-up Brooklyn boy for his personal hero. She hadn’t seen them again until that evening, when she'd come down to retrieve the boy from whatever after-dinner mischief he’d landed in that night. Tony hadn’t been hanging from the chandelier by one foot or trying to tune his mother’s piano with his tongue, though. Instead, he had been perched on the edge of the chaise longue, doing his very best to pretend he wasn’t fighting tears as he watched his godfather lace up his boots in careful, practiced motions.

“Promise you’ll come back?”

The soldier’s careful fingers had frozen, just for a second, before Bucky had finished what he was doing, very deliberately, and then raised his head to regard his godson soberly.

“I’ll do my damnedest, okay?”

Tony had nodded bravely, and the captain’s shoulders had risen and dropped in an inaudible sigh before he had reached out and pulled Tony into one last, fierce hug. He got to his feet smoothly, one arm still around Tony’s shoulders, and offered Stephanie another of those killer grins.

“Be good for this girl, you hear? No stashing rockets in her pockets without at least telling her first, I mean that.”  

Tony had giggled in spite of himself, grinning up at Steph as she took his hand.

“Bucky thinks you’re pretty,” he had announced, watching eagerly for her reaction. His godfather had choked behind him, throwing Steph a deeply apologetic look before elbowing Tony with mostly playful reproach.

“You’re not supposed to _tell_ her, ace.”

His godson had been deeply confused.

“How’s she gonna know if we don’t tell her?”

Steph had found herself laughing, as endeared by the captain’s flustered muttering as by Tony’s exasperation.

“He’s supposed to tell me when he’s ready,” she explained when the other two looked her way. She’d never been one to flirt just for the fun of it, but there was something about Bucky's dismay combined with Tony’s injured accusation that compelled her to reassure both of them at once. Tony hadn’t stopped frowning.

“But he’s going away _now_. You can’t kiss him goodbye if he doesn’t-“

“Hey,” Bucky had cut in, going somewhat pale in his embarrassment. “Cool your jets, kid- she hasn’t even talked to me yet.”

It had been almost two years since that evening, now, and almost a year since they’d heard that Captain Barnes had been captured or killed somewhere out on the Eastern front, and Steph _still_ couldn’t say what the hell had gotten into her right then. Whether it had been Tony’s innocent anxiety on his godfather’s behalf or Bucky’s total and totally surprising mortification- or the sheer relief of hearing the distinct sound of Brooklyn Heights way out on Park Avenue- she had found the gall, somewhere, somehow, to take three steps closer and touch her lips to the captain’s cheek.

“Come home safe, all right? We can talk then, if you like.”

She had been blushing almost to the roots of her hair by the end of her sentence, completely appalled at herself and vaguely worried for her job, but Steph wasn’t sure she’d ever forget either the captain’s pleased surprise or Tony’s pure, gobsmacked delight. After a moment, Bucky had regained enough of his composure to wink, though not as rakishly as Steph thought he’d been aiming for.

“I’m gonna take you up on that, I hope you know.”  

There had been nothing at all to do but smile, more coyly than Steph had known she could.

“I hope you do, soldier.”

Absently, Steph stroked the soft velvet of the wooden soldier’s jacket. Smoothing it out over the doll’s arms, she realized that the three segments of its broken one still fit together neatly.

“There,” she said softly, slotting them into place and holding the figure as still as she could so they’d stay that way. “You’re okay, soldier.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

Stephanie almost dropped the poor doll in her shock, but a hesitant touch to her elbow made it clear that she wasn’t hearing voices. She should probably go to bed, she decided- that made twice in one conversation she’d forgotten that she wasn’t alone.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, then realised she’d been monopolising the attention of one of her employer’s associates without the slightest idea of who he was or why he was still keeping her company.

“I’m Stephanie,” she offered; the stranger smiled.

“My name is Erskine. May I take a look at that arm?”

Steph handed the doll over, deeply grateful that there was something on hand for them to focus on apart from her total inability to hold a conversation. To her surprise, Erskine withdrew a narrow tube from the pocket of his jacket and went to work gluing the doll’s arm back together with the confidence of a professional.

“Is this your work?”

He might well be some kind of restorer- Howard Stark had at least as much interest in the history of engineering as in its future, and he knew all sorts of conservators and antiquarians. Erskine’s smile grew cryptic; his answer was no better.

“In a manner of speaking.”

He nodded to himself after a moment.

“Yes, I think that will do.”

He held out the figure so that Steph could see how neatly he had managed the repairs.

“A lesser connoisseur than young Mr. Stark might never notice.”

“I’m glad,” Stephanie smiled. “He’s very handsome.”

Erskine’s expression seemed to freeze. He eyed Steph with interest, smirking when she blushed and backtracked as she realized what she’d said.

“It’s a handsome piece, I mean.”

“Of course.”

He couldn’t possibly imagine where her mind had been wandering, but Steph still found herself reluctant to meet his eyes.

“It is such detailed work,” she murmured, telling herself that it didn’t count as desperate deflection if she was genuinely interested. “Is it a German uniform?”

“Bavarian,” Erskine nodded. “My parents were from Augsburg.”

Steph nodded uncertainly, wondering for the first time who she was really talking to. Erskine was hardly a German name, but how could anyone guess whether he’d changed it to avoid detection by the Nazis or identification as one of them? She tried to keep the thought off her face, but Erskine could hardly fail to notice her complete lack of a verbal response.

“I hope that’s not a problem,” he murmured, and Steph realized she was thoroughly ashamed of herself.

“Of course not,” she said firmly. “One generation of worthless politicians can’t possibly mean that everything that came before is garbage now, can it?”

“Well said,” Erskine who wasn’t really Erskine smiled. He held out the doll that had brought them together. “Would _you_  like to give this poor soldier a home, since our mutual friend would rather not?”

Stephanie took a full step backwards.

“I couldn’t.”

She thought Erskine must have seen the way her eyes darted down to take in her fading dress, the best she had but shabby beyond measure in comparison to their surroundings, but he only smiled as he considered the doll in his hands.

“Hmm. Perhaps a few updates will increase his appeal.”

Stephanie tilted her head at the doll, trying not to wonder how his hair could look so like it would be soft to the touch.

“Updates?”

Howard’s friend nodded gamely.

“If he’s anything like his father he will be far more interested in a rocket-pack than this jacket, and perhaps a more modern gun or cannon instead of this-“

Before she knew what she was doing Stephanie had snatched the antique out of its owner’s hands to cradle it protectively against her chest.

“You can’t do that! It’s- no,  _no_ , he’s fine just as he is.”

She broke off, wondering- again- whether the cider she had barely sipped could have been stronger than she’d thought. She was on the point of stammering an apology when she realized that Erskine was smiling very widely.

“I couldn’t agree more,” he assured Steph. He pressed the soldier doll firmly into Steph's hands, leaving her with little choice but to take it before its owner let go. “I think perhaps you will be good for each other.”

It was a bizarre ending to an altogether baffling interaction, and it wasn’t her place at all to take gifts from her employer’s guests, but Steph wasn’t sure she had many options after the scene she’d already made. She took the doll, still mindful of its recently-restored arm, and smiled at Howard’s associate.

“Thanks very much.”

“You’re most welcome, Miss Rogers.”

By the time her head snapped up, Steph realizing abruptly that she’d never mentioned her last name, Erskine was already disappearing into the small crowd still gathered around Howard and Mr. Van Dyne. He moved very quickly for a man who had been quite content to stand by and watch Steph daydream, she thought. Dubiously, she glanced back down at the wooden soldier which was, apparently, now hers. 

“Well,” she told her new companion in a confidential voice. "That was pretty damn weird even for this place."

The soldier stared up at her, his pale eyes oddly lively in that still, finely detailed face.


	2. Chapter 2

Satisfied that Tony really was asleep at last and not still hoping to bounce out of bed the moment her back was turned, Steph gave the little boy’s side one last fond pat before creeping from his room with all the stealth her job sometimes required. She shut Tony’s door as quietly as humanly possible, then headed for the upstairs study to retrieve Erskine’s soldier from the post Tony had assigned him before bedtime. Her charge continued to insist that he wanted nothing to do with Steph’s recent acquisition, at all, ever, but it had been at his request that Steph had started bringing the figure to playtime. Tony never included the soldier in his daily narrative because that would constitute playing with dolls, and Tony Stark did _not_ play with dolls, but he seemed to enjoy having him around from time to time.

“Oh,” Steph murmured, rounding the corner to find Howard Stark seated at the desk on which her soldier lay. Her employer was eyeing the telephone in front of him like he expected it to bite instead of ringing. “I’m sorry, I’ll just-“

Her employer snatched the receiver up almost before the phone had made a sound.

“Stark,” he snapped, obviously on edge. Ordinarily Steph would have been out of there before he said another word, but the urgency in Howard’s voice gave her pause. They’d all heard that tone before- usually it meant that the War Department was on the line, and that Howard would be gone in the morning, God alone knew for how long. Steph’s heart clenched at the thought- it had been a month or so since the party that had welcomed Howard home to stay, and Tony was only just growing used to the notion that he could say good night expecting to see his father at breakfast the next day. Which didn’t make it any of her business what Howard chose to do, however- Steph had just resolved to grab her poor soldier and get out of there before she heard more than she should when Howard shot to his feet, as pale and severe as Steph had ever seen him.

“How sure are you? When was this?”

He nodded as he listened, scribbling haphazardly on one of the papers in front of him.

“All right. Let me know. Thanks, Carter.”

He set the phone back in its cradle, lips moving like he was muttering to himself under his breath, then collapsed into his chair with a ragged breath that had Steph darting forwards in case he needed help- hers or that of a doctor.

“Mr. Stark? Is everything all right?”

Howard’s eyes flew open; his assessing gaze flicked briefly over his son’s minder before he offered her a tired, mostly believable smile.

“Fine, thanks. I did wonder when you’d be back for this.”

Ignoring the absurd twinge of anxiety she felt at the sight of her soldier in someone else’s hands, Steph watched Howard stare the doll down for a long moment.

“You can’t even blame the poor kid, can you.”

There was no need to ask what he meant: for her own part, Steph hadn’t been able to see anything but the captain’s likeness since Tony had pointed out the resemblance.

“It’s those eyes,” she suggested quietly. Howard looked startled for a moment, then keenly interested; apparently he hadn’t been expecting Steph to have an opinion.

“I’d forgotten you two’re acquainted. You made quite an impression, if I remember correctly.”

He gave no indication at all of how much he knew about exactly what kind of impression she had made, but Stephanie found herself fighting the urge to stammer an explanation no one had asked for.

“I guess he did too,” she said instead, thinking first of the captain’s lightning smile and then of the way he’d gone still under her hands when she’d grabbed his arm for leverage as she reached up to kiss him without the slightest warning or invitation. Most of all, though, Steph found herself picturing Bucky’s face as he’d hugged his godson one last time, so fierce and yet so gentle, before giving his solemn word that he’d do what he could to make it home. “He was so good with your boy.”

In spite of her determination to conduct herself sensibly, Steph’s voice trembled on the ‘was.’ Her employer shook his head, growing suddenly intense.

“Don’t,” he muttered, voice rough and almost pleading. “We’re not giving up on him, understand?”

Steph gave a tiny gasp that would have been deeply embarrassing if she hadn’t been entirely distracted by what Howard was implying.

“Then he’s not- I mean- you’re sure he’s alive.”

It wasn’t really a question- he couldn’t have meant anything else by it- but Stark nodded in terse confirmation.

“So far.”

He still looked so grave, though, and they hadn’t said anything to Tony yet. Steph tried not to think about the overcrowded, under-funded hospitals she had tried and failed to find work with so many times before lucking into her present appointment.

“Do you know where he is?”

“As of thirty seconds ago, sure.”

That explained the urgency in Stark’s face and voice, at least- and to some extent his strange segues from phone call to doll and back again. As Stephanie tried to come to terms with the deluge of information she wasn’t sure she had any right to possess, Tony’s father turned back to his workspace. He didn’t have a stack of papers, Steph discovered, but a single wall map laid out across the desk and folded in where it wouldn’t fit comfortably.

“If Carter’s right- and she usually is- our boys are just about- let’s see- here.”

He jabbed at the map with a fountain pen Steph thought must cost more than everything she owned added up. She leaned in when Howard waved her closer with characteristic impatience, but the remote village he was pointing out with that finely filigreed nib was nowhere near either Berlin or New York.

“Wait. What’re they doing in _Russia?_ ”

He didn’t answer, already thinking several steps ahead if the path his pen was tracing towards the Kazakh border was any indication. Steph stared, not quite comprehending, at the startlingly red expanse of the Soviet Union marked out on the map in front of them.

“Russia’s on our side,” she protested. Her employer scowled.

“They were while the alternative was Nazi Germany. They’re on their own side now.”

Steph let her fingers brush the area Howard had indicated, trying to fathom how the army had let their soldiers get so lost.  

“They can’t just keep them out there,” she muttered rebelliously. Stark’s answer was brittle with long-held anger.

“Apparently they can, as long as we won’t play their game on the nuclear front.”

Steph took a stumbling step away from the desk, shocked in spite of herself by such callous deal-mongering among erstwhile allies. It couldn’t be a coincidence, either, that they had Howard Stark’s close personal friend among the hostages they were apparently trying to trade for information only he and a handful of his colleagues could possibly supply.

“God,” she muttered, shaking her head to clear it before she did something as useless as cry. To her surprise, Howard reached out to touch her arm in an awkward, oddly intimate gesture of support.

“It’s all right,” he told her firmly. His eyes, darker than Tony’s but no less warm, seemed to beg for support Steph wasn’t sure a man like Howard Stark would have known how to ask for in words. “My hand to god, sweetheart- we’re gonna bring our people home even if I have to go out there and see it done myself.”

Steph took a deep, only slightly unsteady breath, and offered her employer the brightest grin she could scrounge up.

“Great- they’ll be home by Christmas, then.”

Stark smiled faintly.

“Damn right.”

The insistent jangling of the phone in front of him startled them both. Howard turned, professional veneer sliding neatly into place as he straightened in his chair.

“I’m sorry. I have to take this.”

“Of course.”

Steph backed away, suddenly keenly aware of how completely she had no business being there in the first place.

“Good night, Mr. Stark.”

He nodded absently, already reaching for the receiver. Steph fled to her room as if she half-expected the Red Army to give chase, kicking off her shoes and collapsing on her bed without so much as undoing her shirt cuffs. When something dug unexpectedly into her back, she reached to free her poor soldier with an apologetic kind of giggle. The sheepish smile slid off her face as she studied his wooden countenance again- for the first time, she found herself thinking how _un_ like Tony’s godfather it was, its unsmiling tranquility so far removed from the captain’s quick smile and bright, easy laughter. Stephanie tried not to wonder how much of that must have changed in the long, long months Howard’s friend had spent in the custody of men she was still convinced should have been regarding their prisoners as cherished allies.

 “You hang in there,” she whispered, not even worried about whether talking to someone else’s heirloom _in persona Bucky_ made her a crazy person. Some things were important enough to be said out loud even when the right people weren’t around to hear them. “Don’t you dare give up on us, either.”

Shaking her head at her own sentimentality but unable to regret her little outburst, Steph set her soldier carefully aside on her bedside table, murmured her nightly prayers, and slipped into an uneasy rest too quickly to avoid taking all her waking worries with her. Her dreams centered on a child with a cruel smile, dressed all in red and laughing unpleasantly as it smashed her poor soldier hard against the floor no matter how often she begged it to be gentle. She woke up in tears without the slightest recollection of what she had been dreaming, or why it had upset her so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a real thing, you know? I wish I didn't know. Some of the estimates I've read suggest that there were more than half a million American soldiers in Soviet custody as late as 1947. Argh, I say.


	3. Chapter 3

“Wow! How come you have a _man_ doll?”

Janet made a grab for Erskine’s heirloom before Steph could think of stopping her. She turned it over in curious hands, the elaborate fort she had been helping Tony build out of brightly coloured bricks entirely forgotten. “That’s a funny costume.”

“It’s a _uniform_.”

Tony snatched the wooden soldier out of his playmate’s hands with something like a growl. “And it isn’t _funny_ \- it’s just what he has to wear.”

Janet frowned, more puzzled than defensive.

“They don’t wear any’a that stuff in the army.”

“Not _our_ army,” Tony snapped. “A different one, from before.”

His confidence seemed to flag; he glanced at Steph for help. “Right?”

“That’s right,” Steph nodded, holding out a plate of gingerbread in an effort to distract both kids before their agitation got the better of them. “Mr Erskine said it’s 19th century. You wanna give him here before he gets all buttery?”

“No!”

This time, Janet seized the soldier with deliberate intent. “Suzanne’s always wanted’a marry an army guy.”

Suzanne, Steph and Tony knew all too well, was Janet’s most prized posession- a glamorous, redheaded Hedwig doll currently in residence on Tony’s dresser. “They can get married in a big old church like St Patrick’s or something and-”

“He _can’t_ marry your stupid doll.”

The ice in Tony’s voice stopped even Janet short. “He’s gotta come _home_ and marry _Steph_ like he _said he would.”_

A startled silence fell- even Tony seemed surprised by what he’d said. Janet’s gaze drifted from her friend to the soldier she was still clutching, and then to Steph.

“You mean Cap’n Barnes,” she realised. Stephanie recognized the petulant jut of the little girl’s lip too late to intervene. “ _He_ ’s not gonna marry Steph- my mom says he’s not ever comin’ home.” 

Tony went very, very still.

“He’s been dead two _years_ , she said- I _heard_ her say that, and _your_ mom said if your dad can’t get that in his head after all this time maybe _he’s_ not comin’ home ei-”

Tony lunged, screaming already. Janet darted out of his reach with a yelp, sending wooden blocks and gingerbread men crashing to the ground as she made a break for the hallway. Tony pursued her with a roar, all his attention on the soldier she was still holding hostage. 

“Give him _back!_ You can’t just-”

“Janet! Watch your-”

Steph’s warning came too late. Janet tripped on the rumpled edge of the carpet on the stairs and went flying. She threw her hands out in front of her to break her fall and sent the half-acknowledged talisman of Tony’s long-lost godfather careening over the upstairs banister to hit the floor below with an audible crunch. Steph saw Tony’s eyes narrow to slits and grabbed him around the waist before he could throw himself after it.

“Get off!”

He whirled on her, expression fierce; neither of them realised how close they were standing to the top of the stairs until it was much too late. Steph felt the ground go out from under her- she just had time to shove Tony away from the edge before gravity caught up with them. She had about a second’s pure relief, knowing Janet had caught his shoulders instinctively, before everything faded to black. The last she knew of any of it was Tony screaming wordlessly while Janet cried out for someone to get his mother, now, _please._   

* * *

“Cap! I think she’s awake.”

Stephanie opened her eyes to find a young man bending over her. She was still blinking sluggishly, trying to make sense of the warring scents of gunpowder and cinnamon, when she realised abruptly that the guy in question was made entirely of gingerbread. Steph lurched upright, swallowing a gasp, only to freeze all over again when someone else stuck out a brightly painted wooden arm to slow her down.

“So I see. Easy, sweetheart.” 

Of course Erskine’s 19th century Bavarian, now apparently life-sized, spoke in Tony’s godfather’s voice. His eyes were even brighter than she remembered. “You should take it slow for a bit- looks like you took quite a whack back there.”

That did explain why her head hadn’t stopped pounding. Steph fell back obediently, too stunned to resist, and rubbed gingerly at the sore spot developing at the base of her skull. She wasn’t in a bed at all, it turned out, but propped up on a sleigh which was being towed along by a pair of wooden horses a lot like the ones Tony had knocked off his mother’s front table at least four times since Christmas. Delicately modelled fingers moved to adjust the ornate velvet cape her rescuer had apparently repurposed as a blanket before she’d come to.   

“Are you warm enough? You’re not really dressed for this kind of thing.”

“Your guys are wearing icing,” Steph retorted, defensive; she was dressed quite sensibly for her _actual_ job. The captain’s smile widened as his friend saluted cheerfully instead of objecting.

“Works for us,” he promised. “Aren’t you gonna ask what ‘this kind of thing’ is?”

There were a good ten or twelve gingerbread soldiers trudging along behind the sleigh, some of them limping badly- at least one was only keeping up at all with the help of two friends. They looked exhausted to a man, but excited too. Howard had looked like that, Steph thought, that night in his study.

“You’re getting these guys out- this is a rescue mission?”

“That’s generous.”

Her soldier laughed darkly. “Escape attempt’s a lot nearer the mark.”

Following his gaze, Steph made out the shadowy edifice of a fortress high on a hill that seemed too close for comfort.

“Oh no,” she said quietly. The gingerbread boy nodded emphatically.    

“Oh no, and oh yuck, and oh sh-”

“You wanna check on the horses or what?”

The captain’s voice was sharp, but Steph thought his expression was affectionate.The junior officer saluted again, very smartly this time, then jogged ahead with a parting wink for Steph. The captain rolled his eyes with exaggerated impatience.

“You’d really think two _years_ behind bars would sober that kid up, but-”

He shrugged eloquently. Steph smiled back, then let her gaze drift towards the painted horses whickering at their gingerbread master. The landscape that spread out on either side of them was vast and windswept, the sky just a shade too lavender to look natural. On a whim, Steph stuck her tongue out to catch a snowflake and grinned wildly when it tasted sweet. Powdered sugar, she decided; it almost made sense, somehow. Her soldier chuckled quietly. When Steph looked over questioningly, he tilted his head to indicate their surroundings. “‘s nice seeing someone notice it for the first time.”

“Two years,” Steph murmured, wholly sympathetic. Her soldier nodded, but said nothing. Steph decided to change the subject. “So where’re we going?”

“Who cares?”

Another gingerbread soldier- an older guy, a little grizzled- had hobbled up, leaning heavily on a toothpick crutch because a good portion of his leg was missing. “As long as it’s not _there_ it’s a da-“

His eyes darted from Steph’s face to his captain’s and back again. “-rn sight better’n where we’ve been.”

“Fair enough,” Steph murmured; that had been her thought too, in a way. The old soldier looked approving.

“Bright lass.”

He’d come over to update the captain on a conversation that had been going on behind them. Steph listened without really following, watching her soldier’s expression shift as he paid attention. His eyes grew suddenly alert- he turned his head sharply just as the boy he’d sent ahead cried out.

“Cap! They’re-”

Some kind of creature flew at him- the boy tumbled backwards with a cry. The shout of ‘ambush!’ went up behind them as the captain threw himself bodily between the guy he’d been talking to and another hulking shadow. Steph had time to make out a beady eye and huge, yellowing teeth before the creature lunged. Her soldier shoved his friend back roughly, sending him toppling onto the sleigh with Steph. She reached out instinctively, helping him in, but had no time to react before the captain slashed at the reins to free them from the panicked horses rearing impossibly in front of them.

“Get out of here!”

“What? Don’t-”

“You can’t-“

He ignored them both to address the guys who had been bringing up the rear.

“Go, now!”

They knew to follow a direct order, at least; the sleigh was moving before the captain struck out at another blur of fur and teeth.

“Are they _rats?_ ”

Steph’s companion nodded grimly.

“Dirty buggers don’t like to let their stores run low.”

“Stores of-”

Her question died on her tongue as Steph guessed the answer. The gingerbread contingent’s various injuries suddenly seemed much more gruesome. “My God.”

The captain was standing over his junior officer now, doing quite well at fending off two attackers at once. Three was too many, though- Steph felt her throat close up in horror as a great hulking rodent leapt in to pin her soldier to the ground. A vicious snap of its jaws relieved him of his sword.

“Captain,” the rat-thing hissed, audible even over the scrape of the sled and the pounding of gingerbread boots. “I’ve been looking forward to making your acquaintance.”  

The captain struggled vainly in the creature’s grip.

“Wish I could say the same, boss.”

He sounded way too cocky, Steph thought, for a guy who had no way out that she could see. “You take your time, now- I've got all day.”

The rat gave an ugly cackle.

“You think you’re safe because you’re not made out of edibles?”

It grinned down at the soldier with terrible anticipation. “Let’s see what kind of sharpshooter you make without those eyes.”  

There was no doubting that it meant to use its teeth to take them.

“No!”

Steph threw the only missile she had on hand with all the force she could muster. “You leave him alone.”

The rats looked more perplexed than inconvenienced by the shoe that struck their leader’s head- but all three moved to face the still-retreating sled. It wasn’t enough, Steph thought, so she slid off the sleigh entirely with her other shoe already in hand.

“I said get the hell off him, you creep!”

The second shoe sailed clean over the rat’s shoulder to smack one of its underlings in the jaw. All three were still chortling shrilly when the captain’s bullet caught his tormentor square in the chest. The two minions stilled as one.

“Is he-“

“You killed him.”

Steph had frozen too, afraid to get involved if it would make things worse- but the other rats seemed more panicked than vengeful. The captain looked quite fierce.

“There’s plenty more where that came from.” 

The rats turned tail without conferring.

“Cowards,” the gingerbread boy muttered defiantly, struggling over on badly bent legs. As some of his comrades rushed forward to assist, Steph offered her own hand to the captain still on his back in the snow.

“I bet you have two bullets tops.”

He laughed a little raggedly, leaning on her heavily as he staggered to his feet.

“It’s a single-shot pistol.”

Steph choked.

“You’re an idiot.”

His eyes were warm.

“You’re something else, you know that?”

He had to say that, though; he was _her_ doll. Steph swallowed a gasp at the sight of his left arm, broken in two places and hanging awkwardly off his shoulder.  

“Your-”

The captain shrugged, expression wry.

“’s just wood- it’s not like it hurts.”

“Still.”

Steph shuddered. “Thank God you got away.”

She reached out, uncharacteristically bold, and hugged her soldier tight. “Thank God you’re safe.”

“Thanks to you,” he murmured, close to her face. He sighed quietly as a distant clock began to chime. "I'm pretty sure that’s our cue.”

“What?”

Careful wooden fingers touched her cheek.

“I have to let you go now.”

 And Steph knew, without knowing how she knew, that he was right- but she still grabbed his shoulder in wordless protest. Her soldier smiled, softly, sadly.

“Don’t forget us, okay?”

“How could anyone forget you?”

Her voice was choked; his was more bleak than she had heard it yet.

“Sometimes I wonder how anyone can remember, after all this time.”

It made no sense, and at the same time was the only thing that made sense- Steph reached up and kissed him firmly, full on the lips.

“I promise. I’ll remind all of New York if I have to. Don’t you dare give up, okay?”

Their foreheads touched as he nodded. The captain held her close, not nearly long enough, then drew away to salute. His gingerbread boys fell into line respectfully behind him- the guy still on the sleigh doffed his cap respectfully.

“Go with God, Steph Rogers.”

Her mam had said that, sometimes, when she was feeling sentimental. Steph smiled through her tears, and was still smiling- and still crying- when she woke up in the downstairs guest room of Howard Stark’s family home. The grandfather clock in the hallway was chiming- it was midnight, she knew with perfect certainty.

* * *

It came rushing back at once, beginning and ending with the sound of Tony screaming. Steph reached out instinctively, frowning when she found that they hadn’t thought to bring her poor broken doll in with her. Her heart seized, probably too dramatically, at the idea that he was still lying on his own out in the corridor. She got up way too quickly, stumbling towards the hallway with her head pounding like it was taking a heavy shelling- and froze at the sight of a man who wasn’t Howard sitting quietly at the Starks’ downstairs table, toying absently with her doll.

“Hey! What are you-”

She fell silent as the visitor’s head jerked up; a second later, Tony’s godfather staggered to his feet like a poorly-handled marionette.

“Stephanie?”


	4. Chapter 4

Steph crossed the room slowly, half convinced she was still asleep and dreaming after all.

“Captain-”

“Bucky,” he interrupted, quiet but urgent. “It’s just Bucky. Please.”

“Bucky.”

His smile was grateful, hers almost wondering. She must have hesitated a shade too long, though, because suddenly Howard’s friend seemed more worried than surprised.  

“Does anyone know you’re up? Doc said you hit your head pretty hard. You wanna sit?”

“I’m fine.”

It seemed ridiculous that _he_ should be worrying about _her_. “I just- I mean-”  

Her fingertips grazed his cheek- so he was real, then, or she was dreaming in a whole new way.

“How can you be here?”

His lips quirked again.

“I keep askin’ that myself.”  

They stood like that, eyes locked, until Steph realised abruptly that she was still stroking his face.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t- I-”

She fell silent when he raised his own hand to trap hers against his jaw.

“I don’t mind.”

His eyes were amused, his smile a little shy. “Is it jumpin’ the gun to say I’m real glad you’re here?”

They were well past jumping the gun, Steph thought, considering she was barefoot and in barely more than a nightgown, not to mention caressing his face like she owned it.

“If I say I’m glad you’re glad can we call it even?”

“Didn’t I tell you?”

They jumped apart like they’d been electrocuted. Howard Stark laughed softly, more at ease than Steph had ever seen him. He caught her eye, with a grin. “This genius wasn’t sure you’d remember him.”

Steph raised an eyebrow at the pair of them.

“You know I spend all day every day with your Tony, right?”

Bucky’s eyes seemed to light up at the mention of his godson.

“Is that kid _eight_ now?”

Tony’s father nodded when Steph did. Bucky swore quietly- then cut himself off with an apologetic look in Steph’s direction. Still acting mostly on instinct, she inched a little closer so her fingers brushed his in quiet reassurance.

“He’s going to lose his mind. Even with both of you to help it’s going to take us a week to peel him off the ceiling when he realizes.”

She had never imagined Howard Stark could look so genuinely pleased. Bucky, too, was still smiling when he turned to greet the latest newcomer.

“Hey, Doc.”

“Captain.”

“Bucky,” Steph murmured before he had to do it himself; both Howard and his friend smiled widely. Erskine nodded easily, already looking Steph over in that warm, assessing way of his.

“Miss Rogers. You look much improved.”

“Feel it too,” Steph offered, though she felt more like she'd just hit her head than she had since waking up. "I thought you made dolls."

She would have sworn _Doctor_  Erskine's eyes twinkled mysteriously in the low light.

"A hobby," he demurred. Tony’s father chuckled, but when Steph glanced his way sharply he was entirely focused on his friend.

“If you can bear to tear yourself away for a full minute I’d really like to see if this thing’s going to do any good at all.”

It was only when he picked up the wood-and-metal contraption that had been lying on the table, not far from Erskine’s soldier, that Steph understood first that it wasn’t some kind of avant-garde sculpture and second that Howard was hoping to attach it to the stump that had once been his friend’s left arm.

“God in Heaven,” she whispered. It didn’t occur to her to wonder what that sounded like to the others until Bucky staggered backwards like she’d slapped him. “Wait. That’s not-“

“It’s all right.”

He laughed bitterly. “I think I forgot for a minute, if you can believe that.”

She could, though- for her own part Steph had been so mesmerized by the fact of his nearness that she hadn’t noticed at all.

“Listen. Bucky, I’m-”

“Please don’t apologise.”

His voice was hard- he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “It’s hardly your fault this thing’s right out of someone’s nightmares.”

“It’s not,” Steph protested. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

He shook his head, still not looking at her.

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not. I won't ever.”  

He raised his hand- his one good hand- and caught a tear as it fell. 

“What’s this about, then?”

“They left you,” Steph whispered. She was vaguely aware that her hands were clenching into fists at the thought of it. “They sent you off to war and let you get hurt on their watch and then they just- they-”

When he moved closer she threw her arms around his neck and clung to him like it was the only thing that made sense. He had tensed, surprised, but was already relaxing enough to gather her closer.

“I’m okay,” he promised, smiling lopsidedly when Steph raised her head to glare at him disbelievingly. He jerked his head to the side to indicate Howard, now deep in conversation with Erskine but still grasping the prosthetic he had apparently custom-built. “It wasn’t so bad- we knew this guy was gonna get us out of there if he had to come hold the ladder himself.”

“Thank God for Howard Stark, then.”

“I knew I liked this girl,” Howard grinned, apparently taking the sound of his own name as an invitation to jump back in. “Now. You gonna let us try this thing on or what?”

Steph was already pulling away, but there was something in his eyes that made her grab his hand and squeeze it.

“You want me to stay?”  

“Please.”

She did her best to smile encouragingly as he shrugged off his shirt so the other two could go to work. In less time than she would have imagined they were standing back, nodding approvingly as Bucky rolled his shoulders on command.

“There we go,” Howard muttered, apparently talking to the arm itself. “That’s what we want to see.”

“Is it really?”

Bucky wasn’t looking at Howard, though, but at Steph. She tried not to startle visibly under the weight of his rueful gaze.

“Sure, if you like it.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“And if I don’t?”

Steph glanced over his shoulder to find both doctor and engineer listening intently. She lifted her chin, daring them to disagree with her.

“If you don’t like it who gives a damn what anyone else wants to see? It's your arm, isn't it?”

Erskine was the first to smile; Howard clapped his friend’s shoulder jovially as he grinned at Steph.

“Didn’t I say she was-”

“Doc!”

They all froze at the sound of Tony’s voice, sleepy but urgent. “Doc, Steph’s not- _Daddy?_ ”

He froze in the doorway. “Bucky.”

When none of the men said a word, Steph roused herself enough to wave her charge over. 

“Come say hi, sweetheart.”   

Tony drifted obediently to her side.   

“Hi,” he whispered, still watching his godfather like he was afraid Bucky would disappear if one of them blinked. Bucky let go of Steph’s hand so he could bend to meet his godson’s gaze at eye level.

“Hi yourself.”

His voice wavered, just a little. “Look at you, all grown up.”

Tony threw himself at his godfather in a hail of tears and flailing limbs.

“Bucky, Bucky-”

As the others watched with helpless sympathy, Tony’s godfather caught him to his chest.

“I’m right here, Tony J.”

“I _knew_ you were gonna come. I told _everyone_ you were gonna.”

Steph ran a hand through Tony’s hair as if she could help him blink back the tears in his voice.

“He did, you know.”

“Thanks, ace.”

Tony smiled, resting his head on his godfather’s shoulder- and then froze as his hand came to rest on the cool metal of Bucky’s new arm. His eyes were wide; Bucky looked like he might throw up. Steph tried and failed to stop herself from edging closer protectively, but Tony looked to his father first.

“Did you make this?”

Howard nodded; his son did too. “Can I touch it?”

Under any other circumstances Steph would have laughed at her employer’s chagrin.  

“Hey, now-“

“It’s okay.”

Bucky met his godson’s eyes. “You go ahead, ace.”

“I’ll be careful,” Tony promised- as if that was at all what any of them had been worried about. Slowly, reverently, he ran one small hand along the metal shaft. “Does it hurt?”

“Not like before.”

Tony’s grip on his godfather seemed to tighten involuntarily; he addressed his father again, already scowling.

“Didja get’em good for what they done?”

Howard’s smile was gentler than Steph had thought he knew how to be.

“For what they did, ace.”

“For what they did, then. I hope you kicked’em in the mouth.”

Bucky’s quiet laughter shook his godson head to food, claiming Tony’s attention. “What? He should’ve-”

“Should’ve nothing, ace. Your da saved my whole team and more besides, okay? Got us all out of there without even a shot fired at the end.”

“Easy,” Howard muttered, as close to bashful as Howard Stark could possibly get. “You know you’d have-”

He fell silent when his son slipped out of Bucky’s arms to grab him in a wild, grateful hug.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime, kid.”

He offered them a helpless, faintly defiant grin as his son towed him back over to the other two.

“Can we make him one that’s all metal?”

He grinned up at Bucky, already perfectly at ease with his godfather’s new arm. “Then you’ll look like a knight.”

Bucky did his best to look severe.

“Then I’ll look like a tin can, you mean.”

Tony giggled, leaning comfortably into his godfather’s side.

“We won’t make it out of _tin,_ Buck.”

He sought his father’s expert opinion. “Bent steel, maybe, that’d be good. Right?”  

“Sure, if we could make it light enough for this kid to lift it.”

“You can do that, though.”

Bucky ruffled his godson’s hair affectionately.

“This guy can do anything if he really wants to, huh.”

“Yeah,” Tony nodded, perfectly confident. His smile faltered as he caught Steph’s eye again. “Are you really better now?”

For a moment she had no idea what he was talking about.

“I’m just fine, honey.”

“You hit your head, though.”

His voice was laden with a sudden rush of tears. “’m real sorry, Steph.”

“Hey.”

She hugged him fiercely. “I’m okay, Tony.”

“You saved him for me.”

His voice was the merest whisper; from where he was standing, Steph knew, both the doll and the soldier it had come to represent to them were in his direct line of sight. Before she could reply, he pulled away to look up at his godfather. “You talk to Steph yet?”

Bucky looked startled.

“A bit, sure.”

Tony grinned broadly.

“So that means you'er sweethearts now, right?”

His godfather choked, just like he had the first time. Tony, of course, barreled on unperturbed. “An’ you’re gonna get married so she can stay f’rever even after I’m too old for a nanny, and when you have kids they’ll be my cousins so I won’t have to play with Jan all the time, and-”

“Tony.”

He broke off, a little piqued at the interruption, and looked at his governess expectantly. Steph did her best to hide her smile. “You definitely have to let him ask me that stuff on his own time, okay? And you’re gonna be good to your Janet until you’re both old and grey.”

Her charge shook his head, renewing his appeal to Bucky man to man. 

“You are, though, right? Not today but, you know. Soon?”

“Sure,” Bucky murmured, his voice lighter than Steph had heard it yet. “In a year and a day, maybe, once I’ve got hold of some silver horses for the golden chariot and all that other stuff.”

Their matching looks of pure amazement made him laugh.

“What? I’ve read _The Nutcracker_ , I know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

"Of course you have," Steph muttered, powerless to resist either his smile or Tony's delighted grin. Of course he did, even; of course he would.


End file.
